


tie it tenderly

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-26 19:40:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5017846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a collection of f!cadash/iron bull short fics in no specific order. a strong focus on feelings and smaller moments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. nights

when the nights are long and he stays with her, mazhira wakes him each morning with a kiss. sometimes it’s along his jaw, other times the corner of his mouth. and then there are the days when she presses soft lips near the hard, gnarled knot of a scar he usually keeps hidden behind his eyepatch, a quiet tenderness in a world that’s nothing but pain.

but the two of them make pain feel  _good_ , though he’d be remiss if he didn’t admit he  _likes_  the quiet aftermath in the light glow of mid-morning. it’s necessary downtime, a calm after a controlled storm.

he wakes with a loud sigh through his nose (he’s a light sleeper, has to be,  _ben-hassrath, remember?_ ), cracking open his good eye to see her looking down at him. to see her smiling because the bed evens the playing field for a dwarf like her, smiling because she’s able to lean forward and kiss  _him_  instead of the other way around, smiling because he's  _here_  and the rest of the world is out  _there_ even if his pants have been carelessly tossed over the throne for all the noble guests to see.

“what’s the plan for today, kadan?” not boss. not in here. not until she puts on her clothes and steps out the door.

“not sure, bull. but i  _know_  i’m too lazy to get out of bed and unlock my door.” she sits up, holding his face between the calloused hands of a rogue. she kisses him, deep, and he gives himself a moment to receive before pushing back, taking his role, leaning forward to roll her over on her back. 

he knows her schedule. knows she has a meeting with josephine and some important orlesian family at noon. he won’t keep her tied up for  _too_  long.


	2. a romantic

they traverse the hinterlands for what feels like endless days, facing one bear attack after another and among them, bandits, who can't make heads or tails of defending themselves from the attacking wildlife or defend their stronghold against the incoming inquisition party. it was a strange week, punctuated by mazhira targetting a bright red ram for its wool, only to have themselves fighting a provoked demon instead. the group finally decides to turn in and make the long trek home. on their way, they find a farm owned by tal-vashoth. simple farming folk, former qunari who fled from seheron to ferelden for a simpler life. and even though the loss of the qunari alliance felt like ages ago being around them still made bull’s horns itch uncomfortably and his hand tense at his weapon despite now being one in the same.

but despite the former ben-hassrath they welcome the tired inquisitor and her companions (cassandra who…is also admittedly wary, as well as varric who still remembers being ambushed at the wounded coast by others calling themselves tal-vashoth) for dinner after they help close a rift that was terrorizing their livestock of…

cows. ironically.

(mazhira points to one of the few bulls kept separate from the cows and jokingly says “that one has bigger horns than you, bull.” and at that he nudges her off the fence.)

the dinner is nice. the tal-vashoth family is woefully normal much to the chagrin of varric and his quill. the smaller male of the two notices the dragon’s tooth necklace hanging around mazhira’s neck as they eat, and he leans forward, holding it between two fingers and examining it carefully.

“that’s an interesting necklace,” he says, “dragon’s tooth, right? was wondering why the valley was quiet for the past few weeks.”

mazhira nods, glancing at bull who suddenly looks weird about it, and then looks back at the qunari, taking it between her fingers. “half of one.” 

“where’s the other half?”

she looks at bull again, and he’s slowly shaking his head at her, eye wide.

“er on…another necklace? someone…else has it…”

the tal-vashoth sits back, laughing slightly. “that’s…sweet, i guess.”

at that, mazhira frowns, and they go back to eating in what feels like awkward silence, before she speaks up again.

“wait so…you don’t recognize it?”

“recognize what?” the other one speaks up.

meanwhile bull suddenly ups his eating, shoving a turkey leg in his mouth as mazhira continues to talk. cassandra and varric are looking on, and the dwarf is getting out his quill, ready and waiting.

“a necklace of kadan it’s…isn’t it…a qunari thing? i thought you two fled from seheron.”

the two tal-vashoth exchange a look, there’s another awkward pause, and suddenly they burst out into laughter, both looking at iron bull whose face is stuffed to bursting.

“are you…?” one of them lets out another loud laugh, unable to continue as he gets up to remove himself from the table, wiping tears from his eyes. the other one continues on his behalf. “are you _serious_? that’s an old tama’s tale they used to tell the children before putting them to bed. it’s not… _actually_ a thing.” he looks at his partner who’s still laughing over the kitchen basin.

“i’ve never met anyone who actually believed that story.”

meanwhile varric is just scribbling away at his notes, cackling quietly as he writes and cassandra jabs him hard in the side with her elbow.

“it is still a _sweet_ gesture,” she says, glancing at bull who’s turning a strange darker shade of grey. of course cassandra can appreciate romantic gestures, but the laughter tinging her words isn’t helping. mazhira’s blushing now, dark skin getting darker and bull is a completely different shade of grey now. he stands up, swallowing his food and clearing his throat.

“let me…uh…i think i hear demons outside. i should…check that out for you two…hit them around...a little...”

and he pushes past the table, ducking through the front door of the farmhouse, and the two tal-vashoth watch him leave, still laughing and saying things to each other in qunlat as the others remain sitting in silence save for the scratch of quill against parchment.

“looks like you aren’t the only romantic in the inquisition, seeker.” varric says, anticipating the next shove and twisting away from it, still writing.


	3. kadan

_“hey…kadan_.  _listen.”_

it rolls off his tongue, soft and sweet in contrast to the burning ale that numbs his throat and the wide expanse of his chest. in his drunken haze he doesn’t realize it at first, keeps talking, sentiment flowing freely as his composure slips alongside hers, watching as she slumps down against the bar towards him, her warm golden eyes looking up, soft full lips warming his skin as she breathes.

_“i always want to say this…and i never can when we’re out saving the world…”_

he leans forward, closer to her, because that’s how this  _works_. that’s how  _they_  work. he’s all the way up there, and she’s all the way down there, so it’s always him leaning, always her looking up, but it’s not unnatural or uncomfortable, and he could get used to this. he  _is_  used to this. and that’s why  _that_  word just tumbled out, why he feels like he’s going to pour his heart out just as he kept pouring her drink after drink.

but he stops himself, pauses, furrows his brows and manages to catch himself before he says it. because that’s too much for this arrangement, that isn’t what this arrangement is about. it complicates it, brings up uncomfortable feelings that you can’t just hit away with a stick, and this isn’t supposed to be complicated or uncomfortable. it’s supposed to be about how _she_  feels, not him. this is for  _her_  comfort,  _her_  needs,  _her_  desires, and maybe she doesn’t want…whatever it is he’s about to say. qunari don’t fuck their friends, but at this point he sees her as both a friend and…something else that qunari  _don’t_  have. but he’s not qunari anymore. he’s tal-vashoth, a…

_you’re a good man._

he swallows thickly, tongue dry against the roof of his mouth. it’s easy for him to replace something sentimental with something crude, it distracts and detracts, makes the people eavesdropping turn away in embarrassment.

_“…you’ve got fantastic tits_.”

it takes her a second, and she gives him a strange look before her dusty red lips curl up in a ridiculously drunk-looking smile, dark skin flushed red from the drink.

_“awwwww_.”

she looks flattered and he laughs, but the word still lingers there between them. it’s been said, it’s no longer out of reach, and the two of them are going to wake up with a massive fucking headache and with any luck he’ll forget all about it.

but the moment he looks at her, he’ll remember.


	4. insult to injury

“ _So_ ,” Bull says, taking a seat next to Mazhira at the bar of the tavern, the finality of his tone punctuated by the creak of a stool that wasn’t made with Qunari in mind. “As if being  _Tal-Vashoth_  wasn’t enough of a fucking insult.”

The dwarf eyes him warily from the corner of her eye, mug hovering near her lips. He’s a hard man to read sometimes, and this is one of those cases: his tone lackadaisical and difficult to tell whether he’s  _bitter_  or…something else.

“Something the matter, Bull?” her voice is slow, thoughtful, like walking on eggshells though the  _Iron Bull_  is anything but a delicate man. But still, things were rough after the loss of the Qunari alliance; mixed feelings of both relief and loss. She may be a bit of a hardass, the bruise Solas sported for a good week or so after insulting the inquisitor didn’t go unnoticed, but when she was friends with someone…well, she isn’t  _made_  out of stone.

The Iron Bull scoffs with a heavy shrug of his shoulders, worrying a large ring on his forefinger with his opposite hand as he spoke. “I heard you’ve taken up an alliance with a certain  _pirate_. One of Varric’s old friends from his Kirkwall days. You really know how to pull a one-two punch, Boss.”

–

_The news of Mazhira’s lost alliance with the Qunari did not go unheard. Josephine had said there was fear of retaliation from the Qunari among the people of both Orlais and Ferelden. But at the same time, with the Qunari no longer backing the Inquisition, it made the group seem…favourable._

_Or vulnerable._

_And of course news travels and of_ course _people talk. Josephine had interrupted Mazhira in the middle of a much-needed nap to inform her that_ someone  _had invited herself in and that she refused to leave until she met the woman who got the new Arishok’s knickers in a knot. Mazhira, annoyed at being woken up, had been half tempted to turn over and carry out the remainder of her nap, but…_

_It was_ hard  _saying no to a woman like Josephine._

_So redressed and to the throne room she went._

_“_ Heard you went and pissed off the Qunari, _” the woman had been tall, or at least looked tall with the ridiculous feather in her cap, and Varric was doing his best to hide his face behind a book as Cassandra glanced angrily his way. “_ Must say, became a big fan of the Inquisition after a large hairy bird told me the good news. _”and that had garnered an even bigger glare from Cassandra as Varric ducked his head even further behind his book._

_The stranger had held out her hand, warm and weathered from years out at sea. “_ Admiral Isabela, at your service, and I heard you’re in need of a fleet. _”_

_The pirate couldn’t stay for long, of course, and she wound up leaving a close contact in her stead. She preferred being out at sea, and this man made a terrible first mate. An elf, tall and brooding, with thick white hair tied back in a blue ribbon. He had strange tattoos that made Cullen look at him with an odd sort of hunger. He lingered around Varric, looming with hunched shoulders, and Varric told Mazhira to make sure the elf never stepped foot in the library for…reasons._

_But still an alliance was an alliance, and they needed the ships and oversea contacts. They may not have been as structured of an alliance as the Qunari would have been but it was…something._

_And Bull saw it as something of an insult. Possibly. Maybe. Damn man was hard to read._

–

His grip on his flagon is one that’s tighter than necessary, and Mazhira frowns.

“We needed the ships, Bull. And Isabela seems…pleasant enough.”

And he laughs at that, shaking his head. 

“Oh  _I_  know where you were looking that made her seem _pleasant enough_ ,” he leans on one elbow, facing her, and despite herself Mazhira feels flushed with…embarrassment? Annoyance? Whatever it is she grunts slightly and leans back a bit, away from him. She’d cross her arms but…instead she finishes her drink, setting it aside and keeping one hand braced against the bar.

“It’s an  _alliance_ , Bull. A formidable one. It’s not a– And Varric  _vouched_  for her.”

He laughs again, “A liar vouching for a pirate. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”

At that, Mazhira glares. “So says the former liar.” And as soon as she says it, she regrets it with a sinking feeling, seeing the way his brow furrows ever so slightly, a soft crease in contrast with the gnarled scars and harsh lines of his face. He shakes his head, sitting up and looking away, taking a long pull from his drink.

“Bull…I-”

“No Boss, you’re right. You’re the boss, and you-” He grunts, annoyed at something. He’s looking straight ahead, at the mounted bear head and from where she’s sitting all Mazhira sees is the profile of his face, expression veiled by his eyepatch. “We need some sort of alliance to make up for what we lost.” He laughs slightly, shaking his head. “Might as well  _be_  the one who gave the Qunari a run for their money.

“She’s prettier on the eyes. So’s her elven… _friend_.” And despite his unfinished drink, he stands up, stool creaking with relief as he pushes it back and slides his half-empty flagon towards a serving girl who’s been looking at him for a good  _long_  time and blushing red up to her roots. 

Bull turns away from the bar, towards where the Chargers are making merry in the back, talking and swearing loudly. The tension in his shoulders lax quite considerably as he watches them.

“So…we’re good?” She asks him after a moment of silence.

He glances back at her with his good eye, “We’re good, Boss.” And he looks back at the Chargers, “And in your shoes, I’d have probably done the same.”

There's another pause.

“I mean…the  _rack_  on that woman? Who could say no to  _that_?”


	5. one at my side

kadan.  _my heart_.

it’s said like a whisper. like a beat no…two beats. low, warm, it makes her blush despite herself and he  _knows_  and he’s incredibly smug in all that he knows.

kadan. a pretty word. it rolls off the tongue like the rest of qunlat, even if she messes it up badly when she says it, it still sounds nice… _pretty_  she says and he laughs and says there’s nothing pretty about qunari or their language.

but to her it is. not like the ancient dwarven languages…there’s a reason why the language is practically dead, after all. forgotten for the sake of the common tongue, though she knows some antivan and orlesian from her travels and her… _work_.

kadan. where the heart lies. elves have something similar, don’t they? she had heard her sister’s lover call her that. vhenan.  _ma vhenan_.

_“what the hell does that mean?” she whispers to opal, who blushes and laughs and scratches at her beard as she waves the pretty elf away._

_“my heart, i think, least that’s what she told me. kinda embarrassing when she says it when other people are around…”_

so the elves have it. the qunari have it. nice terms of affection. syllables that roll off the tongue like smooth rocks.

and what to dwarves have?

ugly guttural dead languages.

mazhira frowns, clasping her mug of ale between her hands, brow furrowing, thoughtful and annoyed and wondering why a single word could get her so riled up.

“kadan.” she says it outloud and bull from his seat, with his ben-hassrath training and ears, laughs.

“you’re saying it wrong  _kadan_.”

she flushes, embarrassed, and cabot, the bartender, takes note, trying to hold back his own amusement at the inquisitor’s embarrassment (the rumour of her shtupping one of her subordinates was bad enough, but there was something entertaining to glean from actually seeing the aftermath of the confirmed gossip).

“trouble in paradise?” he quips, voice gruff, cleaning a mug with a dirty rag as barkeeps often do. mazhira sinks low in her seat, chin against the bar, pouting and looking characteristically grumpy as the big lug of a qunari goes back to laughing along with  _his_ subordinates.

odd pair. makes cabot’s chin itch but hey, dwarven women have always been a bit weird, especially carta women.

“no. it’s sunny. perfectly sunny and happy and lovey and–”

“ugh stop, you’ll make me hurl and that’s not up to code.” he tosses the rag up onto his shoulder and leans forward, topping off the agitated woman’s cup.

“it’s good.” she says finally, rolling her eyes. “ _too_  good. it’s weird. for all the nicknames i never took bull as a ‘terms of endearment’ sort and…well…”

“kai-dan?”

“you’re saying it wrong.”

cabot shrugs his shoulders once, “know what it means though. comes with the job. i hear things, gossip, rumour. paragon brosca had herself a qunari friend who called her that, so the rumour goes.”

mazhira narrows her eyes, “but she took an elf as a lover. you’re not saying she…?”

“well i mean she  _could_  but no, not the case. would be funny though…” he pauses, noticing mazhira’s considerable lack of humour he stops, shrugging again. “anyway, kaidan–”

“–kadan”

“ _whatever_. it’s a term of endearment, but not  _the_  term of endearment. it’s respectful, friendly, not always about” and he waves his fingers around “ _lovey_  shit if that’s what the two of you call it. it could just be a very intense friendship, kinship. closeness. admiration. your ugly-ass lover just happens to put a romantic spin on it because…well…” he makes a face and shakes his head, “who sodding knows, the two of you are a weird sort. sera told me things i’d rather not think about.”

that at least earns a slight laugh from the inquisitor, and well, he knows he’s on the right track. 

“anyways, don’t get too hung up on it. us dwarves have nice terms too, y'know. and you can twist it to mean whatever you want because honestly, who gives a shit about us besides the lousy sods beneath us?” he taps his foot against the ground for good measure, but mazhira gets the point.

she grins, thoughtful, with a strange sense of determination, and cabot runs his hand across his face as he realizes he just helped find a solution to a really strange lover’s problem.

maybe he should ask for payment, but she’s already off and well…up they go. wonder if they realize that room isn’t soundproof–--

\--–he says the word again, it rolls off his tongue and through her and she sighs despite herself, feeling loose and sated and while her own word isn’t as smooth she presses herself close against his back and says it.

it was a word from her carta days, shared between comrades and those she trusted fully and completely in a family that could backstab you at a moment’s notice. 'friend’. simple, but…in a friendless world it’s something you  _need_  and to her it’s a word of trust.

and she trusts  _him_  as much as she trusts any.

“salroka” she says and it sounds guttural and not at all pretty but it gives bull pause nevertheless and he turns to look at her.

“what was that?”

and she smirks, exhaling heavily. they were lovers, yes, but friends first, that’s how this whole thing started and there’s an importance to that and an importance in shared words and she presses against him and says the word again.

“one at my side. my friend.”

it may not be her  _heart_  and it may not be  _love_  in the traditional storybook sense but in a lonely world with such a weight on her shoulders, there was importance to be had in those who stuck with her and stood by her and she held all her friends in her heart and close to her and close to her chest…

and this wasn’t some romance novel, no matter how varric may try to spin it.

“soulrocka.” he repeats and it’s her turn to laugh, tracing his scars with her fingers.

“you’re saying it wrong.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i write these for fun, but i do appreciate all passing kudos and comments! :)


	6. wedding rumour

talk and gossip at the orlesian ball of the inquisitor having herself a lover in the inquisition.

one of the younger nobles, new to the Game and not at all subtle, approaches mazhira as she’s seen talking to bull, taking a cautious glance at the qunari before bending down to the inquisitor’s height. curiosity glitters behind the slit eyes of her masque.

“so…when is the wedding?” she inquires, “i am sure it will be quite the spectacle.”

bull and zhira exchange glances. or, rather, he looks down at her as she looks up over her shoulder back at him, and then they both look back to the noble. bull raises his eyebrow slightly, while the inquisitor looks unimpressed with the rookie noble.

“wedding?” the dwarf scoffs, swirling her drink in hand, “i’m tied down enough as it is.”

–

josephine hears iron bull’s booming laugh all the way from the ballroom and has a sinking suspicion that many new rumours will be have to _gently_ be silenced sometime after this ball.


End file.
